The Fall
by Acta Est Fabula
Summary: Abandoned.
1. Chapter 1

The Fall

By

Acta Est Fabula

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

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I, at my tender age of thirteen, was sat in front of the Wizengamot, chained to a slab of marble fashioned as an arm-chair. The situation was grim, indeed. I forced the panic down in order to be able to speak; "You've no right to do this to me! I did nothing wrong!" Well, it wasn't exactly panic-free, but at least I wasn't croaking.

Why was I there? Well, there were a few reasons, actually. But the most important would be the murder of one Peter Pettigrew, the one who had betrayed my parents. Sweet, sweet revenge. I would do it again in a heart-beat.

Then there was 'aiding and abetting a known criminal'- and 'You-Know-Who's right-hand man,' at that. The infamous mass-murderer, Azkaban escapee, Marauder extraordinairé, one Sirius Black. The guy sure was cool if you didn't see his latest fashion: 'just out of Azkaban looks.'

By the way, was sarcasm a defence mechanism that one use to not deal with the problems rationally? I was doing that, exactly.

Because the soulless body of the man I was praising was twitching in front of me, having just been condemned to the Kiss by a Dementor.

Black was the last Marauder to be killed, though. At least he had the honor of that, and he did indeed continue the tradition of getting killed, not dying of old age... Lupin's sentence was dealt out and read post-mortem. He was caught at dawn, and executed almost on spot possibly before he could properly wake up after his transformation.

One thing was asked of me, that if I repented my actions by the Headmaster. I was never a good liar, though, so I was in front of the Wizengamot which was in its full glory and unjustness. The Headmaster might have had reservations about all this, but I thought it was gone when I could do nothing but laugh when I was asked if I would repent. Would he repent having killed Grindelwald, I had wondered.

_Shit! I should be focusing on getting myself out of here- far, far away from the possibility of going to Azkaban._ Dementors would do wonders on me, otherwise.

Fudge was reading out my offences: Other than the aforementioned two, there were (a)associating with a dark creature, (b)attacking a Hogwarts professor, (c)resisting arrest, (d)attacking an Auror, (e)attempted murder of the said Auror, (f)use and/or practice of the Dark Arts, (g)using an Unforgivable Curse on a fellow Witch or Wizard, (h)going against the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Magic Resolution, -_is the last one for real?-_ 'Shit!' indeed... And I was deep in that.

So it ultimately came to this: a life time in Azkaban or the Kiss. Which one would be worse, I wasn't sure at the time. I had no say in this matter, though; it was for the 'venerable' collection of Wizengamot body –all of them bastards- to decide. As I was underage, the Kiss was decided to be extreme –no shitting, right? Then I was thrown into a small, dark cell quite unceremoniously. I thought I would see the most 'sunny' countenance on the Dementors' faces when they passed my cell by the first few weeks if one could discern Dementors' expressions at all. There was so much to feed on by the fucking parasites!

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I could feel myself falling down and down the slope that was my now fully formed insanity. Would an insane person know he was so? I thought some would. I knew I wasn't thinking normal even when the word was used very loosely.

Dementors had left me an empty shell of my former self; I looked similar to whom I was, but that was that, and no more- no more was I the hero I used to be. I was a maniac, and my intent was to cause as much pain and suffering and chaos and destruction possible... for rage was all that remained.

The first few years, I had tried to die. I did everything I could within my very limited options. I failed. A depression the likes of which I hadn't witnessed took over my conscious time. I would sit on the floor and stare at the wall, reliving every Dementor induced memory without so much as a twitch. Such simple things, like I would never fly a broom again, or I would never taste Butterbeer would bring me to my knees. If a Hell did exist, it would be in the likeness of Azkaban, surely.

As was mentioned, a few years passed like that. I didn't know I would be glad to survive those years, because a miracle happened! I was past grieving all the things I had lost. For years, my mind was a jumbled mess that I had forgotten what clarity was. At that moment, I was seeing everything the first time in my life; what life meant... And I had tasted the forbidden fruit, and I was craving for more.

There were two kinds of anger, I thought. One was how I used to feel; a flaring anger, one moment it was blazing hot, the other, gone. The other was the cold anger I was feeling now; calculating, plotting, decieving and devising.

When I found the clarity again, the first thing I noticed was the place of my cell; in order to keep my cell close to where they could keep an eye on, they had made a most fatal mistake that just might cost them their lives. I wasn't sure about the exact layout of the prison, but my cell was on the ground floor, and as it seemed, any owl en route to the Guards' quarters would first have to pass over my cell. Again, the details of aerodynamics escape my understanding, but the owls would be flying low, just over the sea, then ascend to the top, and dive towards their destination. This presented me an opportunity that nothing else but a miracle could.

For years I put portions of my meagre meals at my window to lure the owls that just might be carrying something useful. For years... But, oh, wasn't it a magnificant feeling to see a sapling grow and bear the fruits of my sacrifice! A wand, a _fucking_ wand! What kind of fool would send a wand via owl? Or what kind of a fool would need to be sent one thusly? But as it stood, I wasn't inclined to interrupt my enemy when they were making a mistake. I took the wand and wrung the owl's neck; it wouldn't do to raise any suspicion by sending a post-owl carrying no post.

Another foolish mistake that was probably being done out of necessity: no patrols were being conducted by wizards. Dementors' aura was far too intense even at the first floor.

Azkaban's infamy came from one thing, and one thing alone: Dementors. Once they were out of the equation, all that remained from that mighty castle was a fence that's just there, a decorative armor. And I had no happy or tragic memory unmarred by a sinister intend overlapping. This corruption was what saved me during my escape.

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Opening the cell door was easy, a simle Alohomora was sufficient. The 'click' I heard, an unearthly song to my ears. The sound of freedom, of breath after a long dive. Did I enjoy it? Could I? No, that ability was stripped from me! And that tempered my resolve more than anything. I wasn't able to feel the passion I had told myself over and over again that I would feel; the depiction was just that, my fantasy. I felt empty still, even while running by the occasional Dementor that tried to grab me.

I didn't dare cast the Patronus charm; even if I could –which, after long years of imprisonment in a Dementor infested place, would've been no mean task,- a fleeing Dementor would certainly raise an eyebrow or two as the most probable escape for a Dementor I met would be the direction I was taking: the Guards' quarters that was the checkpoint of all entry and exit. That caution was unnecessary though, as it turned out, by chance or vigilance, I was detected. I don't know when, or how, but that didn't change the fact that two guards were running towards me through the long corridor.

There were no branches I could take, only one way forwards, one backwards with only cells' entances to take cover in. I whispered an Alohomora, and the cell to my left clicked open. Two red lights of beam passed by me as I dove in.

I had to have hit my head, because one moment I was sailing inside the air with the grace of a cow, the next, my blackened vision was coming into focus to see a man with rotten and crooked teeth standing over me with a smirk. With prayers that Black and Lupin's impromptu lesson on the Unforgivables wasn't a total failure, I cast an Imperius curse on the man. He was under my absolute command in no time. It was the first time I had felt gratitude for Dementors' ability to seriously fuck up minds.

A neat trick, the Imperius curse; I didn't even need to convey my orders verbally! I wanted him to run just in front of me to shelter my own movements, and I had a living, breathing shield to take the hit. The hit, he took. When the guards saw that the 'red light spell' wasn't working as it was far too easy to side step from that distance, they changed to other curses. Each spell made the shield stagger. It persevered, however, and pressed on as I willed it to. It was practically stepping on his own guts by the time we closed the distance enough to cast the few spells I knew effectively. I had already cast an Unforgivable recently, so casting one again was out of the question. That left either pulling a Hermione and distracting them with an Incendio, or...

I chose the better alternative, and much more power-efficient one. I aimed quickly over the shield's shoulder as we stopped and shouted, _'Diffindo!'_ and Arval's throat was slit open. The blood and suffering was the bonus of my choice. I turned to the other one, someone I was more... 'intimate' with.

"Ah, Justus... Irony is your name!" I had recovered just enough to try out another fucker-curse, _"Crucio!"_ The man writhed in so much phanthom agony that every muscle in his body was flexed to their limits, some, maybe, even more in a second. When I was young, the man would come to my cell to 'have some fun.' Some atrocities were supposed to be crossing a line even in this shit hole, and this one would pay for crossing one... dearly...

I sized up the man lying in his own piss. When one of the hands went for the wand on the floor, I stepped on it and pressed with all my weight and might. It wasn't enough to break any bones, but his twisted face betrayed the pain it was causing. I rose on one foot that had the hand trapped underneath, and jumped. Then I heard the sound... That hand wouldn't be holding a wand anytime soon.

"So... What am I to do with you...? What to do...?" I pocketed the wand as I circled the whimpering man like a vulture. "How about... _Crucio!_" I incanted when I felt I could. The man's screams and obvious agony made me actually _feel_ something: satisfaction. My forbidden fruit... Sweet revenge... But only pain wasn't enough, wasn't _just._ "Then what is 'just,' Justus...?" I asked.

"Wh-what the f-fuck... t-talkin' 'bout?"

I kneeled and raised the man's face with my free hand to look him in the eye. "I think I know..." I fingered the wand I was holding to the man's throat. The man's eyes flicked at his comrade's corpse for a moment before settling on me again. But I traced the wand down the man's body, pointedly looking at my former shield when it reached the man's stomach. I returned my gaze at the man with a smile, lowered my wand just a little more and incanted very softly, _"Diffindo."_

I walked away all the while listening to the man's screams and cries. _Now you've lived up to your name, Justus._

_

* * *

_From there on, it was just walking with no obstacle. I just had to make a detour to see who was hiding in the cupboard –_the fucking cupboard!_ The poor fucker was probably new as I myself would probably recognize a senior guard. The man didn't even have his wand! I twirled the one in my hand in the man's line of sight.

He made a grab for it, but before he could cover the distance, the green light produced by the most feared spell reached him. His death was a pathetic one, ultimately borne out of his very own stupidity.

As I was sure no _living_ thing was left to oppose me in the prison, my gait slowed to a trot. Exhaution was kicking in, but I probably had some time before the day shift guards would come to take over. I could reach the gates in half an hour though the walk should normally have taken no more than five minutes. I smiled bitterly at my own weakness- the weakness I had created personally in order to find a way to escape. If the very same weakness were to get me caught... now that would be some irony! I quickened my pace when I passed the gates leading outside.

It was dark... And dark was good... So was dawn when nobody was awake... But come morning, all hell would brake loose...

I reached the pier thinking these, but my thoughts took another turn when I could see no boat anchored: _Fuck! I can't swim!_

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II - The Boy

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Black had swam ashore, could I do that in my weakened conditin with no skill or experience in swimming at all? Fuck! Of course not...

Some say that even the best plan survives up until the moment you begin to implement it. That is, I hadn't the Sight, thus I had to do it the hard way; trial and error. That didn't mean that I liked any of it, especially when it forced me to go back there and look for an escape route. But I had no choice.

I walked back the road to the prison with difficulty. Lack of nutrition and exercise had done a number on my never-too-strong constitution. But if there was one thing I could do, that would be being stubborn... or as I would rather call it, perseverance. I was dragging my body, my legs almost spent back to the guards'quarters. If there was one way out of there, it would be in that fucking room that I should have checked before taking this route!

I thought. A Floo would do. Every magical place was connected through the Floo network from what I could tell with my limited experience; I would just need to know where I wanted to go. I could Floo to the Borgin and Burkes would be ideal –the owner had seemed hardly the type to be chums with Aurors,- but the store would be almost certainly filled with lethal traps. The Knockturn Alley wasn't a place you could trust anything or anyone. Or I could just Floo over to the Leaky Cauldron and dart out to lose my trail in the Muggle London. I was still pondering on where I could go when I reached the door to my destination. No place was a safe enough bet. I would have to gemble.

Or maybe I wouldn't. I kicked the dead body of the guard with all my strength. "You couldn't have hidden himself in the other cupboard, could you!?" I shouted at it while I was swinging the broomstick in my hand towards it. _Fucking bastard!_ I was glad for the first time flying a broomstick wasn't a taxing sport or I might have had to actually Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, which could only be another of my half-cocked plans. I would be much better off if I could find someone stupid enough to detect the most obvious flaws I could make, like a five year old child, or Ron... While trying to commit by whom I was wronged, what I would do to them when I got my hands on them, I had totally ignored the path that would take me to them... I thought about just lying there to wait an execution; even the first phase was so flawed! I never had had enough information to form a solid course of action, but this stupidity could've cost me my life- a life that I had too many plans for...

--

I flew over the atlantic, southbound, to reach the Britain proper with little resistance from the wind. It was a nice feeling when things were going my way for once. The broom was decent, the orange colored clouds were obscuring the first rays of sun and the wind was just so that it was as if I was bathing in a cool spring. Even though there was no joy on Earth for me, these small comforts were appreciated. The journey that took me to near a small town in Scotland was completed in this way, and I had almost wished it had taken just a little while more.

The town was Muggle, that much was obvious. There was nothing that could challenge phsycal laws, and if magical community was wont to do something, it was showing off. I was a sore thumb in this peaceful place with prison issued uniform, matted, long hairs- hell, I even supported a beard that while not long, could not be considered short. A stylist wasn't a luxery the inmates had, after all.

I discarded my uniform and bathed in the still freezing waters of the ocean. The grime was washed off my body by the current as I rubbed. All over my body, the skin that had turned almost black from my years in Azkaban turned into the sickly white of a dead man's. It was ironically suiting, though, considering that I was a dead man walking, or rather, bathing with all the law enforcers that would be after me when the word got out. Even the Muggle police would be after me; they were instructed to capture Black, weren't they...? Would I also get the 'armed and dangerous' posters all over the country? My train of thought was broken by the pain when I pulled a strand of hair off my head while washing the grime. I was concantrating on washing myself after that; and that would quite possibly be why I had missed the young boy watching me from the shore.

--

"You're Harry Potter," came a soft sound when I reached where I had left my uniform and the wands I had looted.

I was stark naked, and as my arse hole wasn't a hiding spot, and quite wandless. I looked over to my left where the sound had come from. There the boy with the soft voice was, sitting on a rock like he hadn't a care in the world. I wouldn't have a care about that if he hadn't two wands on his lap, and one in his hand. "And you, boy, are a witness." I said as casually as I could. I began to advence on him. I wouldn't let this one boy ruin years' effort. "Now that stating the obvious part is over, do you know what happens to witnesses when convicts get their hands on them?"

The boys' eyes twitched abnormally. When he took a few steps, I could actually see him sweating. His eyebrows had risen almost to disappearance. The boy was terrified by me. I would much rather think it wasn't because I was my most natural self, though. I was painfully aware of that fact as my hands were shaking from the cold, but I coud be deterred by nothing at that point. "So boy, why don't you give me my wands and I let you go?" I smiled at him. I had to reassure the boy that I wasn't the raving mad he knew I was.

Fortunately for me, he was paralyzed with fear up ultil the moment I could reach out and grab the wand in his hand, and unfortunately, that the moment I could reach out and grab the wand, he took a his shot and there wasn't much room for a miss at that close a range. He got me with a curse that drew a lot of blood from somewhere around my stomach as I reached out. I took the wand from his hand and uttered the cursed words that were itching to come out, "_Avada Kedavra!_" as the whole world around me first exploded into light, then faded to nothingness. He would pay for this pain! Oh, yes, he would! Well, when I gained consciousness, though. And these were my last coherent thoughts.

--

When I came to, I was lain in a soft, fragrant bed. It was a far cry from the slob of marble in that cell that stank of, well, me... Not that I minded the change, but if I was in bed, somebody had to have put me there, which was alerting. Aurors could storm in anytime to apprehend me, if they bother with it instead of executing me on the spot, that is. Not something they hadn't done; Lupin could attest to that if he could come back from the dead. Whatever... Back from the past to the present concerns: the wands . They're nowhere to be seen. My captor must have them at the moment. Then who's my captor?

Just as I was thinking about that, the boy from the shore entered slowly with an oil lamp in his hand, in the other hand, he had a basket. "So I've missed..."

"So you have..." said the boy back. I'm not sure what to make of this one.

"Why am I here, not in a holding cell or something?" I ask. I'm confused. I wouldn't accept somebody who has tried to kill me with an Unforgivable into my house, let alone –as I was feeling some kind of bandage on my wound,- nurse their injuries that I had personally caused. What the fuck the new generation was coming to? Didn't they have no sense at all?

"Because I hid you."

_Because he hid me. _I mimic his naivete in my mind. "Did they come here looking for me?" I had to understand the situation I was in before I acted. It had never been my strongest suit, but I could do that when I had to; my whole owl luring setup was enough proof to that.

"Yeah, they walked in as if they owned the place, began casting all sorts of magic detection spells, then left." He placed the basket on a bedside table along with the lamp, then sat on a nearby chair.

I fixed my sight on the shapes that the small, flickering fire was creating. "You're a Muggleborn..." I commented.

"Oh?" The boy's eyebrows rose in askance.

"The light bulb... Magic interferes with electricity."

"What's it to you?" Suspicion...

"Nothing. I was merely trying to converse with my captor." And trying to make him look at somewhere other than myself. I was ready to dash out and subdue him. I gave up the notion when I tried move a little to the side, though; the wound was worse than I had anticipated. The boy had _maimed_ me!

He must've seen my grimace. "Sorry about that- I wasn't thinking."

"Obviously," I quipped, "or I would have been long buried. By the way, how long was I out?"

A furrow formed on his face. The answer was unpleasant from what I could gather. "Four days."

"How?" I asked in astonishment.

"You developed a fever; I couldn't risk getting potions supplies. I'm no good at potions. So I gave you some drugs. You were delirious by the second day. I don't think your body was in good condition to begin with..."

I snorted at that; master of understatements, boy, you are...

"...but you pulled through. I couldn't call even a Muggle nurse; you've been all over the news."

"Nobody knows I'm here? Not even your parents?"

An emotion or a bunch contorted the boy's expression for a moment. "They're dead; murdered by Death Eaters- Death Eaters who walks free even now while you were imprisoned."

At least I now knew the boy's motive, and that relieved me more than the hospitality he had clearly shown. "So this is some kind of vendetta; you avenge that injustice by helping me...?"

"In a nutshell, yeah."

"But boy, do you really understand what you're getting into? That now you're an accessory to murder, you've been aiding and abetting a murderer, you've decieved Aurors, obscured an invastigation...? That even now, I'm searching for ways to kill you and dispose of your body...?"

"It's okay, you know?" dared say the boy whose name I didn't know yet, neither was I inclined to find out. "I understand how you feel."

"Oh? Enlighten me, then; how do I feel?"

"You're a predator; that much is obvious from the body count back at Azkaban. Nevertheless, the predator became the prey now. Aurors are after you, the police are after you..."

I interrupted "You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, do you? I've never been a predator- always the prey. Just a pathetic guy, shying away from everything. Did you know I used to wish the ground would split and swallow me anytime I was the center of attention when I should've encouraged more? Then I wouldn't be in this deep shit I'm in right now. I would be just a dramatic hero, avenging his parents' betrayer. I should've learned everything I could while I had the time; then I wouldn't have a handful of spells to cast –three of which, by the way, are beyond your capacity, I would assume...

"Do you know what it takes to cast a successfull Killing Curse? An absolute detachment, that's what it takes- as if you're putting an animal down, no feelings attached. You're just meat and bones to me now... Total domination, sadism, and detachment from anything human; these are what I am now; a rabid dog- not a prey, not a predator..."

At least I knew what I was, and I wasn't a misguieded fool with delusions of righteusness. "Now, I would advise recommend that you leave the wands you got from me somewhere in the house and go somewhere for a while."

"If that's what you want... But your wound isn't completely healed yet. The infection might relapse."

"I can take care of that. Now leave!"

As the door was closed, I stood up with a grunt of pain. I was in a bad shape. I silently opened the door and padded upstairs slowly. From under a second door that was probably leading to the main floor some light was creeping in. I followed the heavy footsteps to a back exit, picking up the wands left by the boy along the way from a table. Just as he was leaving the building, I pointed one of the wands and incanted, _"Imperio!"_ Not so fast, boy... The stakes are too high to just let anyone go...

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	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III – Dangerous Games

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I had never cast an Imperius Curse until my escape from that hell. It's a peculiar feeling; the feel of it's like splitting the mind into two pieces. With the bigger part, the normal functions are controlled, but a small part maintains a steady connection with the victim all the time. For a few days, I could even pick up what he was experiencing in his sleep.

It was for a few days, because the connection was suddenly cut off. The boy had managed to throw off the Imperius, I guess. His behaviour didn't change at all. He was pretending. I decided to play along for a time before I confronted him. When I did, he said it was to ease my mind- the little rascal! He had his uses, so I would keep him around.

It was a good call on my part, I think, as he nursed me back to health, told what had been going on since my incarceration and was a good cook; my only wish was that he had been a good instructor- alas, it wasn't to be anytime soon. As the infection had set back the schedule very badly, I was up to date in current situation of the magical community by the time the wound was completely healed. I had put on some weight, too.

I could learn two tricks during the time I had to spend in the basement: one- if I was angry enough, I could set the bed on fire completely with a simple 'Incendio;' two- I wouldn't need to overpower the Cutting Jinx, 'Diffindo,' anywhere near that- it was much better cast in cold blooded precision. These two, along with the Unforgivables which were the stocks of nightmares for many a witch and wizard, was quite sufficient to maim, and murder, and massacre.

These macabre thoughts were running through my mind always, but I had to plan. In order to plot the total destruction of the magical world, I needed the clarity I had gained in the cell. That was the reason I was sitting in the cold basement with no fire to produce light or heat.

From what the boy could teach me, -and he was good at politics for his age, too,- it was a three way war; the Ministry was the first player and the most ineffective one, the others were Dumbledore and Voldemort- those two were hell bent on finishing off each other while the first was infiltrated and being manipulated by the latter two. It seemed none would cooperate with another in any way, but I'm sure their main focus would drift toward me the moment I showed my face about. Whatever I would do, it had to be flying under the radar. I could wait until they destroy each other, –it was an option,- but that would take far too much more patience than I had.

Each had formed their own feudal system; the subjects of the 'lords' was forming an army, and that effectively was protecting everybody in that organization from laws in general and letting them have almost free reign over what they were doing. The main 'auspicious' body whose duty it was to have laws enacted was the Wizengamot. They were also the court in charge of passing judgement in case of felony. They were _mainly_ on the lighter half of the scale; thus, convicting a vigilante who was fighting against the evil wasn't the main priority. However, they had enough of a bad crowd in them that when one of the 'bad guys' were convicted, at least a few of those who had voted in favor of the conviction would find themselves the lone survivor from their family, or just plain dead. It was truly fucked up.

If I had an army as strong as one of the existing ones', I would thrive in this chaotic situation; but who would bet their lived to a loose cannon? Only the most desperate, like the boy, or people who had no common sense at all. Fortunately, the body count would be to my advantage in this situation; it would show that I meant business. I had to make it a 'with me or against me' policy. Any neutral had to be targeted so that the unaligned would need protection that I could provide.

"Boy...?" I called out from the open door and sat back on an armchair spared to my use.

He entered lighting his way with a candle on a tray. "I brought you some soup and mashed potatoes."

"Is it night already? No matter..." I was being rude, probably, but it wasn't of any consquence. "Do you know how to do the Dark Mark?"

"No, but I could try to find out." He answered. I think his expression was that of excitement at finally acting after a long wait.

"Good. Do Dumbledore's men have any particular sign they leave when they attack somewhere?"

"I don't think Dumbledore's men attack anywhere; they seem to be the passive side- trying only to defend and all..." his voice was disapproving. Good.

"Very good! That Care Bear attitude might just be the thing we need right now. Go learn how to cast the Dark Mark; I have some more thinking to do."

---

Weeks were passing by agonizingly, and I was beginning to feel more irritable than even I had in Azkaban's small cell. Aurors were still patrolling everywhere witches and wizards tended to gather; the Ministry, St. Mungo's, Diagon Alley, Hogwarts… In fear of recognition or detection, I was a prisoner yet again. The darkness that had provided clarity for some time was now pressing from all sides. I had to get out… I climbed the stairs the second time since my arrival.

"Boy, we need to act soon. Be prepared." I said.

He folded the newspaper he was reading and put it on the table that also carried a tea cup- some Muggle publish, from the looks of it. "Why now?" he asked. It was a fair question.

I wasn't inclined to form any emotional bond with anyone, so the answer was 'because I say so.'

"What do you hope to accomplish?" he asked this time.

I had to give him this; he was as stubborn as a mule. I compromised, "As you know, everybody is lethargic to monthly murders and disappearances. They're used to this low intensity struggle. The thing is, nobody's raising the stakes. This is where we come in; we'll introduce a new element into the mix: random destruction… and we shall see how it goes from there."

"So you're basically saying that you have no set goal to accomplish."

"Overly simplified, but true in this case. It furthers my end goal, though… They fucking die and I get to revel in their misery. What more would I want?"

"Then how do we go about it again?"

"That's the problem, isn't it? It's a very high risk we'll be taking, are you aware of that?" I asked, then continued when I received a nod of confirmation, "Good; you may not be as stupid as I first thought. No matter. First, we have to see how each group's going to react to a new party. To do that, you're going to buy a Christian cross they wear around their necks- big ones. Make it golden or silver if you have the money." I couldn't help a cackle of delight in what the future would bring if I could really pull this one off.

"You seem awfully pleased with yourself," the comment came.

The boy's expression was unreadable –well, at least to me, it was so; I don't think my incarceration helped this kind of social skills any… "You'll like it too when we get to it. Maybe not, though –you're going to be the distraction…"

---

The necessary equipment was provided. I recounted again; a can of gasoline that would never empty –a neat trick, by the way, a box of matches, two hooded robes, a big, wooden device with a big wheel in parts, a long string of rope, a brazier and some coal. I would go all the way while on it.

I was sitting at a pub near the Leaky Cauldron and drinking plain beer under the scrutiny of the Muggles. I would have stared at a robed individual, sitting alone and checking out his watch every few minutes, too. I checked out the watch I was given again; I had sent the Boy in through the wizarding pub exactly one hour ago. It was time for me to enter the Magical community proper the first time in years. I was oddly excited, for some reason. The hood of my robes was already up, so I just checked it to see if it covered all my face and opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron.

The pub was devoid of any customer. Tom the bartender was complaining under his breath as he was drying glasses with a piece of cloth absent-mindedly. I walked over to the back exit in quick strides. After tapping the brick in the order that I had re-memorized the day before, I walked into a pandemonium of smoke and noise. The boy had done his job magnificently as everybody in sight was producing water from their wands to do douse the flames that had engulfed three buildings and was fast spreading to another two.

With all the ongoing commotion, I could easily slip past the scores of witches and wizards toward my target: the apothecary owned by an old man named Arcus. It would be owned no more if I could proceed with what I had planned. The man was as important to me as any, personally; it was the fact that he was a well known, not particularly liked man that painted the target on him. His shop wasn't in a remote corner, so he would be found when the fire was extinguished. I had to do this quickly.

The opening of the door inside was accompanied by a bell ring that played a tune, which caused the forlorn figure to look up in excitement. The man was the greedy type, obviously. I improvised; I dropped a Galleon on the counter and said, "Why don't we take our business somewhere private?"

"Why, sir, of course!" The man was actually rubbing his hands in the prospect of illegal business. Illegal was synonymous with profitable in this part of the Alley, as it stood. If someone wanted a prohibited object and didn't have the guts to go into the Knockturn Alley, he would have to pay more than necessary. Who was I to dissuade him from walking to his death if it was somehow in my own interests?

We passed rows upon rows of disgusting ingredients with smells even worse to a door leading upstairs; the man's living quarters, from the looks of it. I slipped my right hand in my left sleeve to retrieve the wand that I was holding with my left hand concealed. When the man turned back to face me, I already had my wand in my hand and pointed at him. The widening of his eyes let me know the man realized he had walked on the spider's web himself. I sprung the trap without a second thought with a clearly voiced incantation of _'Crucio!'_ Maybe I should've learned something more efficient than that particular spell to keep the man unconscious, for I had to drag the man along with me, holding his hands behind him as I positioned him kneeling in the middle of the room. I unloaded a pouch that was hanging from my belt, and then bound his hands at his back with the rope that fell out of it along with the other necessities. The feet were easier after that.

Assembling the device was no problem; the support parts at each side were three wooden beams, two in a 'T' formation on the floor, the third upended on top of the parallel parts of the two ground supports. Another beam to support the part that would hold the wheel was between the upended parts and the tails of the 'T's placed angularly. When I was finished with the support units, I placed a cogwheel within a hollowed part of the right upended support beam and secured it in place with the handle. Lastly, I inserted an axle from one upended part to the other while holding the wheel up in the air supported against my chest. The cogwheel on the wheel meshed with the one connected to the handle rightly. The nails I applied with a wooden mallet –in order to not to make too much noise, - were just a precaution that the device would hold the man's weight. I was drenched in sweat, and still sweating profusely by the time it was completed.

_Hey, buddy! Now's your time!_ I tied the man from hands and ankles to the wheel very tightly; he would struggle a lot. As the cogwheel connected to the handle was bigger than the one on the wheel, it was fairly easy to spin the wheel the man was tied down even with the extra weight; the movement was slow, though, because of that. No matter…

I splashed a bucket of water on the man's face. Before he could regain his bearings, he was gagged with a rather large piece of cloth. I hanged the big cross-amulet from a roof beam in front of the man, then proceeded to place the brazier under the wheel and light a fire with the coal. The man was safe, yet, at the other side from the fire, hanging upside down. When the coal caught fire, I turned the handle to get the man over the brazier and secured the handle with the remaining string of rope to the bedpost under the man's screams. I checked my watch again; I was running late. So I decided to forgo watching the dread inspiring scene and left the building promptly.

The way back to the pub where the Boy and I would meet went just as uneventful as the arrival; the fire was under control, but still preoccupying enough to allow me an undisturbed walk except for the smoke and heat while passing by the shops that had been on fire. When I entered the pub, the Boy was already halfway through his mug of beer. Two robed figures with their hoods up must have been a more compelling sight, apparently, because nobody was left not staring at us. We finished our drinks as quickly as we could with no conversation at all and left the place.

"You did it?" The Boy asked.

"No," I answered, "I was merely dillydallying all this time."

"So what do we do now?"

He's a curious one… "We've dug a hole. Before we can place the stakes, we have to see how the ground will shift. So, boy, now we wait…

---

I read the Daily Prophet with little interest; mysterious fire… Inquisition reincarnate… horrible murder… cross found… tortured to death… _blah, blah, blah…_ And that was the gist of it…

"We did a good job, Boy…" The praise was well deserved.

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Reviews would be appreciated, as always...


	4. Chapter 4

Planting the Seeds

The first day after the 'horrible murder' was quite silent. The Prophet had shifted its publishing course to more pressing matters like which famous bechalor was still available and such. I thought the public was simply uncaring to the fate of one of theirs. I was wrong.

The day after that was a wildfire of violence throughout Britain Islands; wizards and witches from all classes of wizarding community had taken up arms in order to fight the 'evil' that was Christianity; wherever you turned, you could see a church or chapel destroyed, on fire, defiled. The few 'muggle baiting' acts had grown both in frequency and in intensity. The 'innocent pranks' had been replaced with potantially lethal traps. Chaos and confusion were in reign.

From the accounts of the Prophet, one Muggle, somehow in possession of a gun, had shot a wizard; multiple gun woulds, death on the spot in the third day of the riots. Since eighteen hundreds, Obliviation of Muggles by any wizard or witch was authorized the first time the fourth day. The upward momentum ceased there. I didn't think the authorization of use of deadly force to stop riots by the Muggles helped that any. Such a shame! I had wanted to milk some more violence out of this. It stopped with eleven wizard and witch dead, two in St. Mungo's.

I needed able men and women to accomplish my goals, but my half-cocked plans were failing fucking spactacularly before even coming close to fruition. No coup or martial law, no Harry Potter the Voice of Freedom...

"How do you think Dumbledore and Voldemort gained followers, Boy?" I asked. I honestly had no idea. "I don't think freezing my ass off in the steel cold sea waiting for people to show up is a good way to get around it, even though it did work once."

"Over the years they were around, I should think," he answered. "It must've been a long time since they began this thing."

"Boy, how do you think beginners could challenge masters in the masters' own game? We need to find an answer to that damn question!"

"We cheat."

"There's no cheating, there's seizing the opportunity, but what opportunity...? We can't 'convert' theirs; we must find another niche... Not the 'dark' versus 'light' thing; they're already accounted for. What might there be?" My experience was far too limited to answer this question. I hated it, but I needed help. This was exactly what he wasn't dead yet for. I put my hands on my thighs and looked at him.

He was thoughtful for a few seconds with his eyes focused something over my shoulder into the distance. This was a pretence –that much was made obvious when he said, "Well, I've been an anarchist for some time now, and I've got some like-minded friends..."

I was beyond capable of sensible human speech, so I made do only with a feral growl to express my displeasure and anger. I wanted nothing more than to cut his airway with my bare hands and strangle him until his neck broke...! But, fuck, I did need him. Hence, I supressed my anger when I spoke. "Would they accept a lunatic such as me as their leader?"

"No, I don't think so- not with that haggard appearance at least."

I walked over to a mirror hanging on the wall and took my looks in the first time in a long time. I stroked my an inch long beard which was entwined with the moustache. My eyes were blood-shot, bags underneath swollen, with a nice, black ring all around. The skin of my face was too dry; I thought it would make crunching sounds if I touched. I was the weariness personified. I needed months at least to recuperate... But I didn't have that much time; my emotions were afire, they wouldn't let me rest even though I was still limping because I wasn't used to walking around. The cramps in my wrist were impairing my movement also. I was astonished how I hadn't realized these before. Maybe I was too used to discomfort.

"Find me a mask!" I ordered in a strict voice. "Get one of Barnabas the Barmy made as soon as possible, you hear me Boy!?" I was fucked up royally, so I was in no mood for any courtesy or politeness. I hit the wall with my palms to relieve the frustration I was feeling. I never cared about my looks, but being ugly, short and walking with a limp would do me no good in any company. The whole fucking ordeal had left me an actual freak; the Dursleys would be beside themselves from joy that they were proven right. I stilled my thoughts in a blank.

I heard the door to outside open and close, then let my feet guide me –with a limp that was painfully obvious to me now- to the bathroom. There were toiletries and grooming necessities on a kind of a counter. I grabbed a razor, "fuck this all," and pulled it downward. It was something completely new to me; I was inexperienced, and working with a very sharp object... Therefore the blood dripping down the cuts I had inflicted myself wasn't so surprising. I had accumulated quite a few of them by the time I was done. I grabbed a bottle of aftershave cologne, and poured a liberal amount in my hand, then applied it on my face, and _shit! _ It fucking burned! With no courage to experiment further, I left the bathroom an lay down to recover on the couch I had been using for some time.

--

Too soon was the anarchic gathering. I didn't feel ready at all; so I hid behind a mask both literally and figuratively.

From what I could put together of our conversations with the Boy, they wouldn't accept _any_ leader at all; leaders, authority- they were what they stood against for. But they did have to accept me as their leader in spirit even if not in name. So I decided to perform a leader's first duty: opening boring opening speech.

We had prepared the basement for the occasional meetings that were to happen from time to time: the lighting was improved and we had acquired a big, round table that could seat our number of nine; an Arthurian inspiration that implied equity, thus none had a higher standing than another. It would go well with the whole 'anarchy knows no authority' theme. Also, everybody was wearing masks probably of people they identified themselves with. What did that say about mine, I did wonder…?

Well, if I was to play a lunatic –and I had planned for that actually- I wouldn't be role-playing a lot. And so I rose from my seat and addressed the audience, "I'm 'Barnabas the Barmy,' as you might know –who else would try to form an anarchist _organization_, eh?

"First order of business is to choose a leader. I prepared a candidate list; those who accept the first candidate, none, say aye…" I sat back down.

None was chosen as the leader unanimously, as expected of this particular group. I dropped three pictures taken from the Daily Prophet on the table, one belonging to Rufus Scrimgeour, one to Albus Dumbledore, and one to Lord Voldemort dating back to his first rise of power. "These people here are our ultimate targets. Does anybody have an objection?" I waited for some time to see if any would speak up. When nobody did, I asked, "So how do you propose we accomplish this?"

A wizard with a Felix Summerbee mask on began, "We should find a name suitable name first."

A Boudica masked witch, -also the only witch in the group- countered the argument, "They'll give us one; why bother ourselves with it?"

"We need a manifesto!" claimed 'Zeth,' an ancient Greek alchemist whose works was the reverse of most; finding a way to turn gold into lead and creating a life-limiting substance to counter immortality.

An unnamed treasure hunter whom we would call very imaginatively 'Hunter' offered another way, "There are many artifacts of great power, lost in the sands of time; we could try to uncover their mysteries."

Myrddin the Druid spoke against the last notion, "We don't need trinkets! We need to solve our problems like adults."

Hermes said, "I agree with Myrddin; what are our chances of finding something that was lost so long ago? But we _could, _however… borrow a few that were found already…"

The last of the additions to speak was an Inquisitor, not an ideal figure for this gathering of Merry-men, possibly inspired my failed attempt at igniting the fuse. "Why don't we get down _to_ it? I think we have enough assets to do _something._"

The boy –who was, ironically, wearing a mask that depicted myself prior to my incarceration- completed with the clock-wise circle by saying, "I agree with Inquisitor, but where do we begin?"

"Information…" I answered, "We need solid intelligence if we are to accomplish _anything._"

Myrddin spoke, breaking the cycle, "We need information from three camps;" he pointed at the pictures that were on the table, "You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters, the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry."

"Threatening, infiltration, conversion, torture, extortion- all are valid ways we could pursue; so which one it's going to be?" Inquisitor offered.

"I also might know somebody who could _trade_ some information about the Dark Lord's side, but that would take some money..." Boudica added.

"Infiltrating into the Ministry is a child's play; leaks information like a sieve, the Ministry!" Summerbee said with an emphasizing nod. "Besides, I already know a few people inside."

"The Order of the Phoenix is easy, too; it's almost a public organization now. The problem is climbing the stairs in the chain of command. We would need to be able to feed all of them the information as it suits us best, also. If we acted on every piece of intelligence ourselves, our sources would be used up quicker than a dry wicker." Zeth contributed in a solemn voice.

"I don't think we would need to feed information through our own inside-men; we could do that by feeding information or disinformation to their Ministry informants- you said, didn't you Summerbee, that the Ministry leaks like a sieve?"

"Yes, yes- the more proxies, the better! The more I have to do, the merrier I am!" Summerbee affirmed with a wide, wide grin. The mask was fixed in that grin, though, so I could only assume that from his tone.

"To sum it up," I rose to my feet again, "we need money to pay Boudica's informant. When we're able to afford it, we could get Zeth into a good enough position in the Order of the Phoenix.

"Summerbee, you try to contact the people you know from the Ministry and learn what they know. We have to know if they'll be useful to us in information gathering. They should also be in a position to leak information we need them to leak.

"Boudica, you contact your informant and see what he wants while we try to get some money. We want reliability.

"Zeth, you seem to know about the Order of the Phoenix; you could try to get initiated. When information begins to flow from the Death Eater front, we could get you into a good position there to assist us.

"Hermes, Hunter… Try to get some money; I assume from your personas that you may have some experience in that department. Work as a team if it's preferable to you. Raise this charity some funds, lads!

"Myrddin and Inquisitor, it would do us well if you were to prepare the public for us. At some point, we're going to come out into the open; the smoother it goes, the better our chances are. Try to plant malcontent, disrupt this motion the community's in. You could also try to recruit some people under your command.

"Lastly, _Potter_ and I will double the fund-raiser numbers; I think I might have a good idea how to go about it. Does anyone have anything to add?"

When it was obvious nobody had anything to add, the Boy spoke, "Me and Barnabas were hoping to have you for the dinner…"

To which I hissed in a low voice so as not to be heard, "_Were we now?"_

"… but seeing that it would be too uncomfortable with the masks, why don't we enjoy something to drink? I got straws up in the kitchen."

He went to fetch a few bottles liquor, glasses and straws. After a few drinks, somebody –I wasn't sure who as it was said after the third glass- offered to find a spell to fix the masks on our faces so that it would be less rigid and actually take the shape of our expressions like a second skin. _That_ was a good idea if the one proposing it could actually remember it in the morning.

And the first meeting ended on that note, or rather, I was capable of retaining my memory up until that time. Oh, and a song about a jolly good fellow…

--

In the morning, the Boy and I were having breakfast and a cup of strong coffee each. Other than the slight sensitivity to daylight and a light headache, it was as uncomfortable as usual.

"So how did you find the guys?" asked the Boy as was to be expected. It was bound to come up sooner rather than later.

"They're…" I sipped from my cup in order to gain some time. "They're interesting… I didn't expect them to obey me, but they did. They did have good thoughts themselves, too; that was also unexpected considering the average level of intelligence of the Hogwarts population of my time."

"We're not children anymore, and we're serious about this, you know? We'd been waiting for a call for some time."

"So I'm that call, you say…? By the way, the mask prank you pulled off… You're either a genius, or a fool- time will tell which."

"Though you might like it, and you did, too!" he laughed heartily.

"You aren't dead yet, are you?" I raised my eyebrows in askance.

His laugh only deepened into a hysterical, gut-wrenching one.

"Well, the only thing that remains to be seen is if they can deliver…"

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Reviews would be appreciated greatly.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V - Plans Made

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If it wasn't intoxication acting up after a pint or four at the local pub, I was being followed. Paranoia? Could it be the middle aged suit staring at me? Or the mother and child holding hands while walking, the latter of who were pointing at me? Probably no on both accouts as my attire would draw attantion anywhere. A black, hooded robe with the hood pulled over my face to hide the statuesque mask was in no way inconspicious in fitting in, though incognito. So how was I to differentiate a stalker if not by trying to see who was looking at me specifically? The difference should be a stalker would try to not seem to be following my movements; they would only steal glances in my direction. Simple logic, really...

And fuck! There he was, a police officer, uniform, six-shooter and all across the road, and 'Fuck!' again, the leather strap that was holding the gun in place and out of any harmful weather affect was loose and it was dangling with each step he took. I had missed him, somehow, in my alcohol induced fuzziness. I swore, right there and then, never to drink again if I could get out of this one.

After that, I did probably single most stupid thing I could have done: I turned at the Uniform, lowered my hood and reached with my right hand to my left sleeve to grip the wand that I was carrying around in my left hand. I think even a five year old could infer that action as it was: a challenge to duel. The Uniform, who had began to spin in a steady motion when I stopped walking, had to have sensed my action, though he was seemingly browsing some women's undergarments, because he turned at me one one heel and one ball of the foot in a military fashion. My odds were getting lower and lower. Since when did the Royal Army have fucking war veterans? Was it the IRA? Were they still active? Well, the answers to any of the questions was in no way relevant to my pradicament, though; the first priority was to survive, not getting lost in thought.

I thought about saying something, but by the time I decided to say it, the time had already passed to say that. Then I thought something else, and again, it was obsolete before its production. The Uniform was crossing the street, by the way; his right hand poised over the handle of the gun, his march steady. The cars were slowing down to let him pass. The crowd was circling me, I think. I was mindful not to look away from the approaching figure. It was young, imposing and muscular: the facial hair that had grown in the afternoon was more wispy than stubby, he was tall, and his clothes were strained to their limits. My only hope was if he was inexperienced and had never been in a life or death situation outside of what drills he had been in, I could actually have a chance.

Yes, a crowd was gathering around us. It was obvious now that the Uniform had stopped to talk to me -what he was saying, I had no idea and no desire to learn. I could see a half circle behind him that continued on to the edges of my vision and probably behind me in a full circle. My focus was only on the hand and the twitching fingers over the holster. I gripped my wand even thighter even though I could feel sweat dripping down my hand. There was just one other thought in my mind: how should I handle this? My mind was refusing to comply with my request. I was most probably going to just 'fuck it all!' and let reflexes, if I had any, kick in. Death was just death, 'the end' after a long movie, and get on with the life -in this case, the after-life if it really existed. There was nothing more to this.

A grand thought hit me with the force of a train: there _was_ a crowd around us! He wouldn't be able to fire his gun even if I warranted a serious threat lest he shot a by-stander. I hadn't realized how stupid ordinary people were up until now. I wished I had a good flashy spell that could cause a healty amount of explosion so that I could blast my way out and let the Ministry pick up after my mess. That would really make my day, wouldn't it? The problem was I was as educated in the ways Magic as a homocidal, sociopath third year who had received a pointer or three at the very gates of Hell on how to use the Unforgivables. That was about the sum of my 'CV,' whatever the hell that stood for.

My best suit had always been rushing into things head first with my eyes closed, so I did that without further thought to complicate such a simple thing as survival instinct. I pulled out my right hand from the left sleeve of my robe and banished the Uniform back at the wall of people. The wall in question was staring open-mouthed collectively at the display of such brute force of impact: it wasn't in any way flashy enough to suit my taste, but it did tend to create a booming sound effect; a spell Flitwick had had most joy in teaching. The 'omphf' the _men,_ the Uniform and the middle-aged man with a beard and moustache, let out was satisfactory. Then an explosion shook the ground beneath my feet. The shockwaves it sent through my body, a unique experience that had my heart beating madly against my chest. I could even feel my pulse without reaching with my hand to my neck. The cavalry had arrived in the forms of Boy, Boudica, Hunter and Inquisitor. The lethality of the situation on both sides were cut down with the additional forces contrary to what it might have suggested, but that didn't make it any less fun to watch these naive and impressionable youth causing senseless violence and random mayhem. The only downside was that it was short lived as none elected to pursue the routing band of gnats. How appropriate it would be to conjure a giant book to crush them against the pavement...

---

Debriefing was quite a colorful and noisy affair after that.

"That was fun!" I exclaimed without feeling any of the emotions my voice was exuding.

"That it was, and also stupid..." came the Boy's comment. He sounded not all here, like he was thinking about something else entirely. Distracted, somehow.

I let every thought slip from my mind only moments before I passed out on the comfortable couch...

---

Only to wake up again in a god forsaken hour by the looks of things to some heated argument. At first, it was an unintelligable noise that was sweeping by my ears, then coherent sentences begin to come with a slight headache. I managed to ask what the fuck was going on here at my second try. The noise rose to a level that was intolarable to my hungover ears.

"_Silence!_" I hissed like a snake. Two 's' sounds would make that word quite a good candidate for that, luckily. Nobody conceded my offer was a really good one, however, so I had to take drastic measures. "Just shut the fuck up and tell me what you want, okay? I'm too irritated to deny anything of you right now." And this shut them up very quickly. To add some drama into it, I said, "Ask of anything, you shall have it." I rose from my throne... my couch... _the_ couch, threw one side of my cloak to the back and gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. "After all, you are, are you not, my beloved friends?"

And actors the lot of them were, I realized after watching all of them kneel before me, respectfully uttering "Your majesty!"

I liked it... In fact, I liked it far too much for comfort if I were to ever total everything to the ground. When everything was totaled, how would I find 'subjects' to satisfy this want? I concentrated on what they wanted: they wanted action, wealth and recognition; and if there was one place they could get an 'all-in-one' deal for those, it was the Gringotts. My plans for that particular establishment hadn't yet grown to maturity yet, but with more able hands on it, I could come up with a workable course of action at the very least. Very able hands indeed, so much so that if it came to magic in general, somehow I was the weakest link in this chain. Ractifying that would take probably a long while, but it was something I had to do no matter what. Thus, my mind was made up on what I would do to make up for the years I had lost in the prison: actually work... Not something I would've prefered, but, as I reminded myself again, something I simply had to do.

"Okay... We will attack the Gringotts, show our faces and smile to the cameras, grab some bounty and leave. Everyone satisfied in one simple move. Is this satisfactory for you all?" If I hadn't been forced to wear this mask _and_ had actually mastered every Dark Lord wannabe's dream, the perfect one-eyebrow-cocking skill, I would've been doing just that. Oh, and that thought naturally would bring to mind... How was Snape doing? I certainly had some unfinished business with him. Better to have a closure of some kind than the alternative, right? Well, I had a lot to do.

"Boy... a word..."

When he chose only to stand by me and not get out of the room, "..._in private..._" With that, I walked slowly, deliberately out of the room into the office adjacent to the one we were in with a little more emphasis on my steps that was creating an audible thud with each one I took. The sole being hardened leather made it, in all likelihood, an act to behold. My impression on others was important to me. That was also one reason I had to learn more about magic.

I entered the office promptly, giving little thought to the furnishing of the room. Rows upon rows of books, a heavy table, carpeted floor... I couldn't care less. I sat in a comfy armchair in front of the wooden table and gestured for the Boy to do the same. I began the conversation as it was I who had called this impromptu meeting: "I need a favor..."

"What!?" he asked, or more like exclaimed. I must've surprised him with my statement, though, as it had come far too fast to be in any way formed through meticulous thought processes. Yes, he was surprised alright.

I braved on, "There will be fights, and not only against mere Muggles. So, simply put, I must learn more."

"You must learn more... I thought you were getting on just fine." It was more a question than a statement, or at least, there was an underlying question there... "You feel insecure..."

I didn't know why the Boy was playing mind games with me, but I did find it uncomfortable. The reaction to discomfort would have been, in most cases, a well placed curse or something. Hypothetically speaking, if we were to fight without using the Unforgivables -which I knew only I had used previously- I was bound to lose; hence my request. I opted to be a little more diplomatic... mild-mannered if you will... toward at least my 'comrades.' It pained to admit even to myself, but I needed them very much. It was not to say that I had to take any bullshit from them, though. The objective was simple enough: make him cut the bullshit and decide to train me. "Why don't you stay out of my head, Boy? Delve too deep, you might have to face things you don't want to face."

The boy spoke in very calmly, "I don't think it would be too different from the surface of it; that you've made very clear in the beginning: chaos, mayhem, murder... right?"

From his voice, I wasn't sure exactly if he got the threat part. Or I had yet again failed in basic social skills. "It doesn't matter, really... but do take what I say at face value from now on." I nodded my head once just a little to emphasize my point. "Now..." I began, only to be cut short with an affirmative. As it stood, I would both get trained and be left on my own concerning my mental faculty, or lack of it thereof; a profitable agreement on my part, so I had nothing else to put forward which might aggravate the delicate take more, give the absolute minimum policy balance that I had previously decided to adopt. "When do we start?" I asked. Wasting time when I had promised such a big event would just not do.

The Boy scratched his beardless chin thoughtfully, which was just a pose as his next question-slash-suggestion-slash-order revealed. "How about right away?" he said while pointing his wand at me.

Even though I hadn't seen it, I could swore that his eyes were reflecting a manic light...

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It was pointed out that I need a beta. If you're interested, please contact me by any means you wish. With the academical work and familial issues, it took some time to update; the latter was solved, the first will take another year after this one. I won't beg for reviews even though I appreciate them. I don't want to boost word count with needless rambling, so that's about it.


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